Remember
by Kavan
Summary: Matthew lives but the consequences of his accident change everything for M&M, Sybil & Tom, Edith and Isobel.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this as a fic for the Matthew Lives & BROTP Day at Tumblr and it quickly turned into a multi-chapter idea. I don't want to give anything away but it will focus on Matthew, Mary, Sybil, Tom and Edith and will be about their friendships and their relationships in the year after Matthew's accident. And don't worry no is dying in this fic. However, in this AU Sybbie has not been born...yet. I am very curious to see what you make of this so please feel free to leave me some feedback.

**.~.~.~.~.**

A son. A prince. An heir. A son. Matthew could not stop smiling. He felt his chest would burst and his face would split into two. A son. After all the months of waiting and terrible worry. A son. Oh they were so blessed. And he loved Mary so terribly. And they had made a son. Downton had an heir. And as Mary said in the hospital, their lives were their own now. The terrible weight and burden was lifted in an instant. A son. He simply could not stop smiling. The sun was so terribly, terribly beautiful. The birds sang so sweetly. Everything felt fresh and new and full of potential. His Mary had given him a son. They had a son. And then he saw the lorry and it was to late. As his car flipped he screamed, "MARRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYY" and then he felt the car crashing down upon him and he could see Mary and his son, and then the world went black, and he saw nothing…

**.~.~.~.~.**

"He is such a beautiful boy," Sybil cooed smiling down at her nephew. "What is his name?"

Mary smiled up at her demurring, "I can hardly tell you before Papa and Mama."

"Isobel knows."

Mary smiled enigmatically. "Well I suppose we must share our secret with Aunt Sybil." Mary said speaking to her son so softly. "Sybil meet George."

"George?" Sybil said questioning. "Not Robert?"

Mary chuckled replying decisively, "No matter how much Mama pushes no."

"Nor Reginald?"

"Perhaps next. But right now we have a George."

Sybil narrowed her eyes, "Why do I think there is more to the name than you are admitting?"

Mary answered by glancing down at her sleeping son announcing, "George you have a very suspicious aunt."

Sybil shook her head continuing to peer down at her nephew, "I merely know my sister quite well."

"And you do like the name?"

Recognizing the slightly nervous timber in Mary's voice Sybil touched her arm saying, "Of course no other name could suit him better." She completed her sentence in spite of a protracted yawn.

"You should rest, darling."

"I didn't just have a baby." Sybil retorted easily.

"I thought Tom was coming to fetch you home."

Sybil continued to stare down at her nephew. "He's a little late," She admitted sounding not even slightly upset by the delaying. "I don't mind it gives me some more time with George."

Mary furrowed her brow wondering, "I wonder what's keeping him."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Oh Jasus!" Tom swore pumping his legs running down the hill and the over turned car. He'd noticied the lorry and saw the overturned car…still he'd hoped it was another car "Jasus no!" He exclaimed as he saw the driver being pulled from under the machine, blood pouring from his head. "What happened?"

The man stumbled a bit while the others focused on freeing the body totally, laying him on the grass. When he tried to speak his words came out slurred and indistinct.

"Drunk!" Tom screamed angrily feeling his face go red with anger. "Get him to my car!" Tom ordered the men standing around. "I am going to get him to hospital!"

One of the men looked over at him saying flatly, "He won't make it."

"Well I am bloody well going to try," Branson roared angrily, "So let's go!" Within seconds the men had Matthew in the car one holding his head in his lap to try and stem the flow of blood from Matthew's temple, while Branson pushed the car to its limit, speeding and swearing the entire way to the hospital.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mirroring her son Mary had fallen into a deep slumber. Watching her sister, Sybil felt a kind of peace settling about her like a warm, comfy coat. She had seen enough births go badly on the wards in Dublin to fear for her sister. She had fretted incessantly during Mary's sojourn in Scotland, fearing she might not be there for the birth, and thinking that something might so easily go wrong. In her sleep, she saw blood spilling, and envisioned her sister sobbing in agony. She awoke from those dreams in a cold sweat, feeling a kind of dread oppressing her like an enormous weight pressing down on her chest. Now that her nephew was born and Mary showed no sign of illness Sybil felt she could truly rest. As soon as they reached Downton she intended to change into her gown and sleep the rest of the day away. They only had a few more days before they returned to Dublin. She wanted to rest, walk the estate with Isis and her father, have tea with Granny, stroll the gardens with her mother, and of course spend more time with the lovely George. The thought of the newly beloved boy caused her to pull herself out of the comfortable chair and step over to the cot for a quick peek. Watching George's tiny chest rise and fall she felt a smile crossing her lips. At such moments she remembered precisely why she had embraced midwifery. The physical and mental agony of childbirth producing tiny miracles that one could look at and think, "I did a good thing today." Her work during the war had not offered such rewards. Wounds that would never heal, men busted into pieces no surgeon could ever wholly repair, limbs lost but never forgotten… No midwifery was a better thing. Much better she thought smiling at her small but already beloved nephew. However, even as she contemplated that thought and George's small hands, a commotion in the hall caused her to look up. Feeling her old training kick in she hurried across the room, venturing out into the hall. She caught sight of her husband rushing toward her calling, "It's Matthew, love. Matthew." She was confused by his words until she saw three men awkwardly lugging a figure into the hall as if carting a sack of potatoes. "A bloody lorry driver hit him. Drunk!" Tom snarled angrily.

Watching them inelegantly dump Matthew on a gurney, Sybil fought against a gasp that rose up at the sight of Matthew's blood drenched head and face. Her profession could not render her wholly immune to the horror of seeing dear Matthew so horribly wounded. Catching sight of Clarkson rushing down the hall she called out requesting, "Dr. Clarkson may I assist?"

The man nodded saying, "I rather hoped you would Miss Crawley."

"It's Nurse," She said forcefully adding, "Nurse Branson," She noted reaching for Matthew's pulse as they rolled him down the hall. She cast a worried glance back at Tom for only a moment before turning the whole of her attention back to her patient and the task at hand.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The next few hours passed like molasses. Time stretching out like ribbon candy, a minute seeming to take an hour to pass. After the rush of getting Matthew to the hospital, the wait afterward seemed interminable. After a time Tom thought to go to the phone and telephone Anthony Strallen's household. He knew the driver and asked him to go to Downton to fetch the Crawleys. He then telephoned Downton and informed a shocked Carson of the afternoon's events. He swore the man sounded like he aged during the call, and at one point Carson whimpered sounding almost tearful saying, "Poor Lady Mary." Everyone knew Mary was the Butlers' favorite, and Tom felt for the man.

Once the call was completed Tom returned to the waiting area. After a half hour he watched Robert, Isobel, Cora rush into the building. "Is there news?" Cora questioned sounding surprisedly sanguine in spite of the situation.

"Nothing. " He said regretfully. "Clarkson's with him."

"Surely we can go back." Robert insisted though his tone lacked his usual conviction. The afternoon had drained his typical boorish demeanor and he seemed a smaller, quieter man.

"Is he in surgery?" Isobel questioned, and there was a kind of muted agony in her face as she asked the question.

"I believe so," Tom answered. "I'm sure Sybil will be able to tell us more."

"Sybil is working with Dr. Clarkson?" Cora asked smiling. Tom nodded in response but said nothing.

"Has anyone told Mary?" Robert inquired turning to face Tom with the stoniest of expressions.

"Not yet." Tom replied explaining, "Sybil has been working with Matthew and I thought it best to wait."

"I certainly agree with that." Robert agreed adding, "We must protect her until we know more news."

"She'll have to be told Robert," Cora stated taking a seat on a worn looking sofa.

"Certainly when the worst is over…. When we know more…" He turned seeing Dr. Clarkson enter the area.

Clarkson cleared his voice stating, "He's alive. Just. But we won't know anything until he wakes."

"What are his injuries?" Isobel asked rising to her feet. "And when can we see him?" There was a kind of economy in her questions, the way she offered them one after the other rather demanding a concise response.

Clarkson seemed unsurprised by her behavior answering, "I'll take you back, and explain his injuries as we go." He offered her an atypically warm expression.

"May I come as well?" Robert requested meekly.

"Of course," Clarkson agreed as he turned leading them down the hall and behind the doors to the small ward. Cora and Tom watched the doors swing closed and then turned to each other with wary expressions.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Stepping into the curtained area Robert placed his hand just above Isobel's elbow applying the slightest pressure. He hoped to convey a sense of reassurance for both of her sakes. The sight of his wonderful boy so pale, his bandages saturated with blood sucked the breath right out of his body. He had seen worse in Africa and during the last war, but never had he seen someone he loved so dearly so terribly wounded and so terribly fragile. He thought of the insidious cracks that splintered tiny plover's eggs.

As if ascertaining his feelings, Clarkson said, "He's fit and strong. We can only hope…" He let his voice drift off and his words fall away.

Robert thought that they'd all seen enough in the war to know hope was a cheap currency in this modern world. "He was trapped under a motor car." Robert observed dully as if trying to make sense of the thing.

"Has he regained consciousness?" Isobel asked her voice rising slightly.

Clarkson shook his head, "But we shouldn't assume anything."

"It's hardly a promising sign." Isobel snapped…after a moment she pressed her fingers against her eyes saying, "I am sorry."

"Don't be…" He replied matter of factly. "But we must be cautious in assuming anything be it good or bad."

"Surely we can be optimistic," Robert insisted, needing the reassurance the doctor seemed loathe to provide. "He did make it to the hospital."

"Yes of course," Clarkson agreed nodding his head. "Blame it on my Scotch caution. I prefer the wait and see approach." He stepped away from the bed and walked toward the door saying, "So we shall wait and see."

Once he had exited the curtained area Robert turned questioning, "Whatever does he mean?"

"He doesn't think my son will regain consciousness." Isobel replied flatly running her fingers over her son's wrist.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Are you sure about this?" Cora questioned deferring atypically to her youngest daughter. "She has just endured a trying ordeal."

"She has to be told Mama," Sybil insisted. "She'd never forgive us if…"

They stopped before the door to Mary's room exchanging glances as a means of reassuring each other. At length Cora stepped forward smiling at the sight of her eldest daughter cuddling her tiny grandson. Sensing their presence Mary looked up beaming, "I thought you had all become lost. Come and meet your grandson…" Looking at their drawn faces Mary asked, "What is it?"

Cora glanced over at Anna saying, "Anna can you take the child for a moment?" Cora stepped closer to the bed waiting until Anna left before saying, "Darling there was an accident."

"Why isn't Matthew here?" Mary demanded looking around the room as if certain he would soon appear. "Where is he? Is he back at Downton?" She forced a smile, as if willing herself to believe her own narrative.

"His car was hit by another car."

The color drained wholly from Mary's face and her voice was full of dread as she asked, "How bad…?"

Sybil stepped word deciding frankness would be the best course, "Matthew has a concussion, he's unconscious. "

"But he will regain consciousness." She said decidedly. "He will."

"We don't know," Sybil said softly as if wanting to shield her sister from the blow. "It's all a matter of waiting until he awakens."

Mary began pushing the blankets back, seeing her daughter's actions Cora exclaimed, "Mary what are you doing?"

"I am going to see my husband," She insisted as if the action was perfectly natural and logical.

"Darling he won't know you are there," Cora advised her coolly.

Mary stared at her with a look of incredulity, "I will know."

"Mary you need to rest," Sybil advised trying to instill an authority in her voice.

"Sybil I must go to him." She pleaded and Mary Crawley never pleaded.

Contemplating her choices Sybil agreed at length, "I'll see if we can move him in here."

** .~.~.~.~.**

"We should change his bandages," Isobel exclaimed when Sybil shared Mary's request. "It wouldn't do for Mary to see him like this."

"Of course," Sybill agreed reaching forward to still Isobel's hands as they reached for the top layer of his bandages, "Let me do this Isobel."

"You think me incapable of caring for a patient." Isobel snapped angrily.

"Of course not," Sybil replied evenly careful to keep a neutral tone. "But…"

"No buts. We're both nurses first and foremost." Isobel stated fiercely, brokering no room for argument. "Never forget that Sybil." She instructed slowly peeling the first layer of bandages from Matthew's head.

** .~.~.~.~.**

In spite of the clean bandages Mary still gasped when she saw her husband. The bright happy man she had bid goodbye too mere hours earlier returned to the room on a stretcher with skin as pale as hers. He had bruises crossing his chest and torso, and his breathing sounded labored. Reaching across the area between their beds, she took his hand clasping it within her own saying only, "My poor darling."

"He has several broken ribs," Sybil explained stepping closer to the bed assuming the practical air she found most effective with patients. "His lung was punctured and he's suffered a serious concussion. There was some internal bleeding in his abdomen but Dr. Clarkson patched it up in surgery." Finishing her explanation Sybil looked down at her sister and despite Mary's obvious concern she saw such pure adoration in her eyes. "Mary," She said thinking it best to be brutally honest, "It's going to be a long recovery even if everything goes well."

"I see," Mary said softly taking in the information. "I can take care of him. And this time I can do it properly."

Sybil's gaze softened and she touched her sister's free hand, "I know you will."

Robert strode into the room taking a look around the room he declared, "What in the world?"

"I had my husband moved into my room." Mary said never removing her gaze from Matthew.

Robert's face contorted in confusion. "Whatever for?"

"So I can be with him and comfort him. And his presence comforts me and George."

"George?"

"Our son, your grandson." Mary replied continuing to clasp Matthew's hand. "His name is George."

"I thought," Cora interjected pointedly.

"His name is George." Mary said flatly.

"Fine." Robert said adding, "But this is hardly proper. It's not done."

"And is there a rule for a husband nearly dying the day his son is born, because I fear I missed that chapter in the etiquette books."

"Robert," Cora interrupted arguing, "If Mary is content, and Clarkson raises no objections we can hardly object."

"I can think of a great many objections." Robert stated firmly. "What if you need to…" Robert blushed and looked away whispering, "Feed your child."

"Oh Papa," Mary sighed disappointedly. "How can that even matter at a moment like this?"

"Papa," Sybil stated determinedly, "Nursing is a very progressive movement and very normal."

"Please Sybil," He pleaded his entire face and neck going scarlet. "You mustn't speak of such things."

"You mustn't be so old fashioned."

"I don't approve of this," Robert intoned seriously.

"Well then its good you won't be making the decisions." Mary said firmly.

Making a last appeal Robert added, "Matthew should not be on a female ward, nor should you be forced to endure this sight."

"The sight of my husband!" Mary shook her head seemingly shocked at her father's obtuseness. "And I am certain Matthew would want to be with his family. I want to be with my family Papa. And we three are staying together." She stated returning her attention to her husband and reaching down to gently caress his face with the heel of her hand.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Storming into the hall Robert looked irritably at the sight before his eyes. "Whatever are you doing scribbling away over there?" Robert asked testily.

Tom looked up, "I'm drafting a letter to the Times demanding this government do something to regulate motor vehicles, and to institute laws prohibiting driving while intoxicated."

The words seemed to suck the last of Robert's anger and he sighed audibly and sank down onto a bench opposite the one Tom occupied. "Why are you still here?" He asked not bothering to disguise his crossness. "Sybil seems occupied."

"I am certain she is," Tom remarked trying to focus on the pad before him. Writing tended to calm him and he turned to him the way his brother turned to whisky, or his Da to his fists

"Then why are you here?" Robert's question was laced with something very close to anger.

"For Matthew."

Scowling Robert said, "A man you drove around."

"A man that is married to my sister-in-law." Tom stated firmly. "A man my wife considers a friend. The father of my nephew…." Glancing up and meeting Robert's gaze he spat angrily, "Even in poor dirty Ireland we respect family."

Robert leaned back against the wall sighing again before saying, "Hours ago I felt we were the luckiest of families… how does it all go to ash so quickly?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

Despite her exhaustion Mary lay awake all of that long night watching her husband and her son. Sybil urged her to take a powder, to rest. Yet, she had refused. While part of her body ached for sleep, the other much stronger part only ached to comfort her husband. She could not help remembering his last hospitalization. It had been torturous then, and she had no doubt the days to come would be the same. Except as his wife she could comfort him, she could touch and show her love as she had not been able to in the past. Oh she ached to comfort him…if only he would open his eyes.

A shaft of light illuminated Matthew's face, and Mary turned to see Isobel creeping into the room.

Clearly surprised to see her daughter-in-law seated by her son's bed, Isobel said, "You should be sleeping."

"So should you." Mary retorted flatly. "But here we are."

"As we should be." Isobel agreed pulling the other chair over next to Mary's chair. "Has there been any change?" Mary simply shook her head. Isobel watched her son sleeping, noting the gentle rise and fall of his chest before commenting, "When he was George's age I would watch him sleeping. Then after Reginald… I used to creep into his room so late at night, just the sight of him at peace it gave me strength to carry on when it seemed so impossible to do so…" She turned and looked into the cot a few feet away. "In the days to come George will be a solace to you."

"I'm sure." Mary agreed her gaze still focused on her husband. "He was so excited, so proud… and now this…"

Isobel reached over patting her daughter-in-law's arm. "He is proud." She said firmly, "And you must stay strong both Matthew and young George are going to need your strength."

"You do think he will…."

"I have to think that." Isobel said returning her gaze to her son's sleeping form.

** .~.~.~.~.**

Prodding the tins of his fork among the eggs, Tom picked at the food he had barely touched since sitting down a quarter of an hour before.

"Is there a problem with your eggs Mr. Branson?" Carson intoned sounding more put off than concerned.

"No, no," He said tiredly. "The eggs are fine," Seeing Carson puff up slightly Tom swiftly amended his words saying, "I'm sure they are excellent. I am just not very hungry."

Carson dipped his head agreeing, "Much of our breakfast went uneaten downstairs as well."

"Has Robert…. Lord Grantham gone back to the hospital."

"His lordship left some time ago." Carson said asking, "Is there any news?"

Shaking his head Tom said, "Nothing."

Edith strolled into the room looking dispirited, "Good morning." Her voice was toneless as if fatigue and emotion had diminished her enthusiasm. Turning to Carson she said, "I'll just have some toast and tea."

The butler nodded and retreated from the room. Edith took her seat, "Were you at the hospital all night?"

"Yes," He said adding, "He's still unconscious."

"I cannot make sense of it." Edith confessed softly, "He was so happy, so excited on the train and now…"

"I was surprised you didn't stay at the hospital."

"I'm not much good at comforting Mary." She stated matter of factly. "I do feel terribly for Matthew though. He's really become a friend to me."

"I feel the same." Tom confessed taking a sip of his tea. "I mean I don't know him that well but from what Sybil tells me and the bits I observed…"

"They said you saved his life."

Tom looked down shaking his head, "I just did what anyone would."

"A lot of people would have left him on that road."

"Maybe I should have." He said quietly.

"You think he won't wake up?"

"I hope he does." He said reaching for his tea cup, "But I keep seeing Mary sitting by his bed with that little baby." He shook his head saying, "I just hope…" He shrugged as if uncertain what he hoped.

Clearly aiming to change the subject Edith gestured toward the pad of papers sitting beside his right elbow, "What's that?"

"Oh it's something I worked on last night." Seeing her inquisitive gaze he continued explaining, "A letter about the driving laws in this country. It's just a rough draft…I need to do some research. Maybe later…"

"Come on," She said rising and tossing her napkin on the chair. "We can research it, Papa must have something in the library."

"Now?"

"It's better than sitting here and worrying." In reply he rose from his chair following his sister-in-law to the library.

** .~.~.~.~.**

The brightness stung his eyes and he opened and closed them several times against the light, straining to adjust to its brightness. He attempted to turn his head away and saw stars and felt a hundred tiny jolts of pain crossing his scalp. "Owww," He muttered protesting against the brightness and the pain.

The woman who had been holding a baby saw the movement. Wordlessly she passed the child to another woman and crawled from her bed and stepped the two steps to his bed. Taking his hand possessively within her own she looked down into his eyes. "Oh my darling!" Her eyes pooled with tears as she clasped his hand. "My darling," She vowed in a possessive tone bringing his hand to her lips.

"I'll get the doctor." The other woman said smiling happily.

"I'm so very glad to see you. How do you feel? Don't talk." Her questions and instructions came out one after another, and he had no inclination how to answer. And all the time she was squeezing his hand or kissing his palm and he wasn't sure what to make of it….

** .~.~.~.~.**

In mere moments Clarkson had rushed in with Isobel, Sybil, and Robert close upon his heels. They stood a few feet back giving Clarkson room to perform his duties. Mary, however, continued to cling to Matthew's hand.

"Mr. Crawley," Clarkson began saying seriously. "Can you tell me how many fingers I am holding up?"

"Four." He answered groggily continuing to blink against the brightness in the room.

"Very good, very good." Clarkson replied his relief evident in his voice. "Now," He challenged removing the pen from his pocket and placing it on Matthew's knee. "Can you feel this."

Again Matthew simply said, "Yes."

"Can you wiggle your toes?" Clarkson asked pulling the blanket back to expose his patient's feet. Seeing Matthew wiggling toes on both feet Clarkson smiled broadly, "Wonderful!" Having exhausted the physical tasks he noticed Matthew's wide eyes asking, "Is there something the matter Mr. Crawley?"

"I don't know…" He answered nervously. "The thing is I am not certain…" His brow furrowed obvious confusion appearing on his features.

"Darling," Mary demanded squeezing his hand. "What is to be uncertain…you are alive and well."

Sybil and Isobel exchanged glances with Clarkson.

"Mr. Crawley? Dr. Clarkson returned his attention to his patient, raising his arm he gestured toward Mary questioning, "Do you know who this woman is?"

Mary turned her head looking at the doctor saying irritably, "Whatever do you mean? Of course he knows." She smiled determinedly squeezing his hand prompting him to speak, "Darling?"

Matthew merely shook his head.

In the suddenly to silent room Clarkson said, "You don't know this woman at all?"

"No."

**.~.~.~.~.**


	2. Chapter 2

First off massive thanks for all the reviews and follows... I hope chapter two will meet your expectations. Feedback feeds my muse.

**.~.~.~.~.**

It took a moment for Matthew's answer to sink in to the assembled group. Thinking that his patient might have misunderstood Clarkson repeated his early inquiry, "You are certain you do not know this woman?" As if needing to be absolutely certain Clarkson again gestured in Mary's direction.

Matthew squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow as if wanting to physically exhaust all forms of thought. At last he said only, "I am certain."

Mary sighed in relief saying, "Thank goodness. You had me terribly worried for a moment."

"No," He said again furrowing his brow, "I don't know her… you…" Seeing her face fall he softly mumbled, "I am sorry."

Clarkson merely gave him the same calm smile inquiring, "And would you be able to point to Mrs. Isobel Crawley?" Again Matthew simply shook his head wincing at the movement. Noticing the movement Clarkson inquired,"Does it hurt very badly Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes." He admitted stilling his head lest he cause another wave of pain.

"I'll have the nurse bring you a draught for the pain." Clarkson added giving his patient a reassuring smile, "I'd like you to rest."

Matthew said nothing simply continuing to stare confusedly at the assembled group.

"Mr. Crawley," Clarkson stooped placed a gentle hand atop Matthew's shoulder, "Why don't you rest awhile and we will talk again." He glanced over at Mary requesting, "We should speak outside Lady Mary."

"I don't want to leave him alone." She insisted sounding strained and unnaturally weak.

Stepping forward Anna spoke up volunteering, "I would be happy to stay with Mr. Crawley and Master George."

"Thank you Anna," Isobel said forcing a grateful smile.

"Yes thank you," Mary agreed distractedly, continuing to stare at Matthew as if seeing a foreign individual. "We'll just be outside," She vowed continuing to watch him even as she backed out into the hall.

Once door closed Matthew turned toward Anna asking, "Who is Master George."

Anna looked helplessly at the door as if expecting someone to pop back in and answer. As no one did she simply said, "He's a lovely little boy who's just been born."

She waited for him to ask further questions but he merely closed his eyes returning to sleep.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"What has happened to my husband?" Mary demanded the very instant they stepped from the room. The confusion of mere moments before had transformed into a kind of fearful concern, evident via the slightest quiver in her voice.

"Lady Mary," Clarkson requested uncomfortably, "If we could step into my office."

"I'm not leaving him." She reiterated with a firmness that rejected further propositions.

Clarkson folded his hands into his coat pockets, "From my initial examination, which I remind you is quite preliminary and liable to change over time…"

"Oh do come out with it," Mary ordered clearly battling to keep hold of her temper.

"I believe Mr. Crawley has suffered a case of amnesia." He glanced over at Isobel asking, "Do you agree Mrs. Crawley?"

"It appears so," Isobel agreed absently her voice lacking any trace of her usual conviction.

"Amnesia," Mary sputtered the word uncertainly.

"Amnesia," Clarkson repeated clearing his throat, deepening his voice into a more authoritative tone. "Involves a loss of memory resulting from an illness or psychological disorder…"

"Surely you are not suggesting my son-in-law…" Robert huffed angry at the line of thought.

Clarkson shook his head stating reassuringly, "Of course not. No. Mr. Crawley's condition is obviously a result of his accident."

"I should say so." Robert agreed his mood apparently assuaged by Clarkson's reassurances.

"How long until he recovers?" Mary asked, "How long does this amnesia last?"

"Well it depends of course on any number of factors," Clarkson began rambling, "It may be hours, day, weeks, months…"

"Months," Mary repeated anguish creeping into her voice.

"Or," He said lowering his voice, "Mr. Crawley may simply never regain his memories. Of course," He hurriedly added before Mary could object, "We simply must wait and see what occurs."

Casting a nervous glance at Mary, Robert questioned, "Is there something we can do to spur his recovery."

"Yes," Mary said grasping hold of the idea as if caressing a favored toy. "There must be something we can do to help."

"We could bring the photo albums, tell him about our pasts…" Isobel suggested tentatively.

"I would rather that you didn't," Clarkson answered decidedly. "I've heard of cases where such maneuvers actually regressed and frustrated the individual."

"But we cannot know if we do not try." Mary insisted with growing frustration.

"We must be prudent," Clarkson warned emphasizing his point by adding, "I prefer caution."

Mary rolled her eyes saying, "You always do."

"Lady Mary," He warned fighting to keep hold of his temper. "Any gains made by forceful probing might well be lost later on or cause Mr. Crawley further cognitive damage."

"Whatever do you mean?" Isobel inquired thinking an argument between two as stubborn as Mary and Clarkson might be a poor choice.

"Research indicates pushing a neurological injured patient can have disastrous results. For Mr. Crawley's wellbeing I suggest waiting at least a few days before inundating him with photographs and memories. Keep to the basics. But," He warned his Scotch tone creeping out, "You will do as you wish, as that is what the Crawleys seem to favor doing." He said adding; "Now if you will excuse me I'd like to see to a few other matters. I will examine Mr. Crawley again when he wakes. Hopefully I will have more promising news." He added as a farewell gesture before walking off down the corridor.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Are you sure this is quite right?" Mosely asked nervously standing just aft of the garage at Crawley House. He had been vaguely put out by the notion that Tom Branson expected him to assist moving the car. He was willing to lend a hand, he always was…but still…. It wasn't appropriate for a valet, it was beneath his station. "I know I shouldn't be here, but you being here Sir that's terribly wrong." Along with Jimmy's and a groomsman's' assistance they had turned over Matthew's car. Dinged up as it was it drove beautifully. Still unsure how the family would take to the numerous dents and dings and crushed front bumper, Branson had told Mosely to hop in and they'd driven into the village, parking the car in the former stable at the back of the house.

"The car has to be stored somewhere," Branson reasoned coming out and wiping his hands on a towel. "And I don't want Mary having to see it when his Lords…Lord Grantham brings her home."

"Lady Mary," Mosely corrected emphasizing her title firmly and purposefully. "Would never go into the garage, she only sees cars that are brought around to the front of the house."

"Probably," Tom allowed jovially, "But you know Pratt has it in for any car he isn't the sole caretaker of." Hearing his words, Mosely looked down causing Tom to blurt out, "What?"

"Sir it isn't proper… You're putting the staff down in front of me." Mosely observed quietly adding, "It isn't proper. A man of your class saying such to someone in service…"

"I was in service not two years back." Tom said continuing to clean his hands.

"Yes," Mosely agreed turning to walk back inside, "I remember that quite well."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"He's a poky old horse," Mary declared exasperatedly as she entered the staff room. They were retreating to the small room to discuss the situation. Sybil had insisted, employing the word consult, feeling the need to fall back on medical terminology to make her sister venture even this small space from Matthew's side. Sybil and Robert had argued convincingly that they needed to have a private word concerning Matthew's care and she had agreed. Yet, even as she opened the door Mary kept casting glances behind her as if wanting reassurance that her husband was not crying out for her.

As they approached the room Robert recoiled at entering exclaiming, "I cannot…a female staff room."

"Oh papa!" Mary snapped angrily. "How can that matter!"

"Really Papa," Sybil echoed unable to keep the disdain note from her voice. "t's hardly as if the female staff prances around in their corsets," She remarked struggling not to smile at Robert's aghast expression. "It's simply a room we go to drink tea."

"Well I do not…"

"Papa," Mary said despairingly. "Is it not enough I have to worry over my husband's health, must I also feel angry at my father's behavior."

Isobel, who had previously silent spoke up saying, "Robert this is hardly the time to worry over such things. We must put my son's health before your antiquated social mores."

"At last some sanity." Mary praised peevishly.

Robert seemed about to object but at length offered only, "Of course." They walked silently in, though Robert did drop to the rear and was slow about entering.

"See Papa," Sybil murmured gesturing to the one woman in the room who was sitting fully dressed sipping tea.

"Very well," Robert huffed stiffly. "We must focus on Matthew."

"How convenient," Sybil drawled fixing her father with an irritated expression.

Seeing they were all gathered Mary spoke up saying, "We must get a proper second opinion." She glanced over at the nurse reading in the corner, realizing with some surprise that the girl was paying no attention to their discussion.

"I agree," Isobel nodded her head, seeming to have barely heard the suggestion. "Sybil perhaps you could call the London and ask who a good man is…"

"Of course."

"The London," Robert spoke the term as if chewing on an overdone piece of lamb. "Surely we can do Matthew better than that. It's hardly the type of hospital…"

"Robert," Isobel interrupted him with a brusque indifference. The tension of the day had blurred her usual tolerance for his behaviors. "The London is possibly the finest hospital for progressive neurological treatment."

"She's right Papa," Sybil interjected desirous of providing Isobel whatever support she could offer.

Mary sighed tiredly saying, "Call the London, call whatever hospital you all please…I only want the best care for my husband."

"I'm sure that is what we all want," Robert said more tenderly than even moments before. "We all want what's best for him whatever our arguments about the best approach."

"Yes I know that," Mary agreed playing with the tie on her dressing gown. "I just…"

Lightly placing her hands along Mary's arms Sybil guided her toward the small sofa in the corner of the room. "You must sit down Mary. You've just been through a very draining experience."

"Two actually," Mary replied chuckling in a hard manner that contained little mirth. She rested her face behind the heels of her hands.

Sybil dropped down beside her sister lightly rubbing her hand down her back saying in the most encouraging manner she could manage, "He's alive Mary. That's the most important thing."

Mary rocked her head back and forth slightly saying, "Yes…of course. That's the important thing…" Her voice had a hollowed out sound as if she was speaking without a sense of what she was actually saying.

"I think you need to sleep," Sybil suggested continuing to stroke Mary's so so back gently.

Mary shook her head clearly resisting even the idea of sleep. "No I can't…I must…"

"I quite agree with Sybil," Robert said firmly.

"I don't want him…either of them to be alone." Mary protested though her manner was weak and halfhearted as if the exhaustion was wearing on her.

"One of us will stay with him," Robert answered. "We won't leave him, or the little chap alone."

"George," Mary said firmly.

"Very well," Robert acquiesced reluctantly. "George."

"You will wake me if anything changes."

"Of course," Robert said rising with his daughters, walking close behind Mary lest she stumble. Isobel watched them leave before sinking back against the wall needing the support to remain upright.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You are quiet," Edith said as they walked from Crawley House to the hospital. It was a beautiful summer morning. The heat would be oppressive in a few hours' time. Now though it felt lovely walking bathed in sunlight, listening to the choiring of the birds and nodding to the odd passerby.

"Am I?" He asked striding forward keeping his thoughts to himself.

You might as well tell me. I'll badger it out one way or another."

Tom chuckled offering a quick smile, "So all the Crawley girls know that trick?" She merely smiled waiting for his response. "Just something Mosely said."

"Such as?"

"Nothing really…" He said as if thinking better of his frankness.

"A nice way of telling me to mind my own business," Edith observed smiling as if amused by herself.

"Not at all," He said sighing before admitting, "Just something I suppose I am working out in my own mind."

Edith nodded as if finding sense in his words. "Just remember if you need an ally, you have one."

This time there was a genuine warmth to his smile as he answered, "I do remember that. And I appreciate it. More than you know." Striding ahead he opened the hospital door holding it and then following her inside.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Why are you here?" Robert demanded walking out of the hospital room where his daughter and her family were resting, seeing his son-in-law walking down the hall. "I gave you very strict instructions to take care of Isis."

"She's curled up by the kitchen stove. Daisy promised to keep a sharp eye to ensure Isis doesn't have the run of the place like she does every other day." Edith said relishing the chance to get a dig in about that dog. "Mrs. Bird made Matthew some cake and she insisted we bring it over." Edith said defensively. "And besides we wanted to see how he was doing."

"Well he's not doing well," Robert retorted running his hand over his forehead. Seeing his daughter's confused expression he explained, "He woke up but he doesn't seem to know any of us."

"What?"

"How far," Tom asked. Seeing Robert look sharply up as if demanding an explanation Tom responded, "A reporter got beaten during the rising. When he first woke up he couldn't even tell the hospital his name."

Robert eyed him coldly observing, "Ireland is a very violent country. I do wonder what would happen to your lot if we didn't run things."

"We'd know the taste of freedom," Tom snapped.

Sensing the discussion was headed for dangerous waters Edith quickly asked, "How serious is it?"

"Very," Robert said still eyeing Tom. "He couldn't identify Mary or Isobel."

"Oh my," Edith said her eyes widening in shock. "And to think we only wanted him to wake."

"It's early days," Tom offered wanting to inject whatever optimism he could into the situation.

"Yes there is that," Robert conceded dropping down onto a bench.

"How is Mary bearing up?" Tom questioned sitting on the bench opposite Robert.

"As best she can." He said seeing Isobel walking silently past them without saying a single word. "Edith," He said softly to his daughter. "I wonder if you would mind seeing about Isobel. I don't think she's slept since he arrived. I thought perhaps…" The words did not come because he had no idea precisely he wished her to do, only knowing something must be done.

"I'll see to it Papa." She assured him with a firm nod, as if deciding it was just the thing she was best equipped to do.

"The poor woman," Robert said adding only, "Ghastly…its just ghastly. How can everything be golden one instant, and turn to ash the next?" He asked shaking his head at the sadness that seemed to be enveloping the family.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Her sister insisted on sleeping in the same room as her husband and son, and Sybil well knew that if Mary insisted upon a thing it was pointless to argue. Even Papa's promises to stay with Matthew and George was not enough to lure Mary from their room. Seeing Mary this way, seeing her clear unquestioning devotion to her husband, Sybil understood perhaps for the very first time just how deeply Mary must love Matthew. She knew Mary loved Matthew of course she did, but the depth of that love the way Mary behaved still surprised her. If, heaven forbid, this happened to Tom she knew she would feel the same. Seeing this she realized Mary must have been truly exhausted for virtually the second her head touched the pillow her eyes closed. By the time she pulled the blanket up and adjusted it Mary was breathing evenly in and out clearly in a deep slumber. Turning Sybil saw the door being slowly, ever so slowly, pushed open; an old nurse's trick that Isobel had taught her early in her training. Seeing Isobel creeping in on nurse's silent footfalls Sybil smiled at her as the woman crossed the room stopping before the tiny cot located between Matthew and Mary's beds.

Stepping over to where Isobel stood beaming down at her sleeping grandson, Sybil whispered, "He's beautiful."

"You will think it is the grandmother in me talking," She confided with the slightest trace of pride, "But he looks so much like Matthew."

"He has his eyes and his hair." Sybil said evaluating the sleeping boy. " I think he will have Mary's chin though."

Isobel smiled seeing the trait for the first time. "Yes I think you are right. And if he's half as stubborn as the pair of them we'll all have quite a time."

"I am sure." Sybil agreed ruefully. A quiet interval passed while the two women watched the sleeping child with equal absorption. "Seeing this as often as I do you'd think I might lose the sense of wonder," Sybil confessed softly casting an instinctive look at her two other patients relived to find both deeply sleeping. "But it never changes, the joy at seeing and the privilege of being a part of birth."

"This joy is complicated though isn't it?" Isobel shared frankly. "You see despite what I told you last night about being a nurse first…when I look at this boy.. ..Reginald's and my first grandchild I can only ache for my other boy." She cast a glance over at Matthew.** "**When he was first born I would look down at his crib and he had such a sweet manner even then," She said smiling down at her grandson. "But sometimes I would think he was watching trying to figure out just who Reginald and I were. Who are these funny people that pick me up and carry me around, and tuck my blankets and give me toys… Who are they?" She said her voice losing power and sounding close to tears. "But then one day when Matthew was only a month or so old he woke up and looked at me and I knew he knew who I was… That may seem ridiculous, but I could tell he recognized me and his father. And before that he hadn't known… How is that possible? I carried him for nine months, I nursed him an hour after he was born…but it still took a while for him to know me. But then he did." She smiled as if the triumph was fresh, as if only moments before her infant had looked up and known her. But she shook her head sharing, "Tonight when he woke up even before Clarkson asked if he knew me…even before he opened his mouth I knew… He didn't recognize any of us… We were a room of strangers, polite strangers but strangers none the less." Her voice became strangled and her eyes shone with tears she could not easily blink away. "It's strange to think there was time he didn't know me and now," She said painfully, "That time has come again." She looked away from her grandson once more focusing only on her son. "Isn't that a strange thing?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I've taken the liberty of contacting the head of neurology at the London," Clarkson confided to Robert as they walked toward his office.

Robert had grown tired of bench sitting and had decided to seek out Clarkson to see what if anything could be done to aid his son-in-law's recovery. "When will he be arriving?"

Clarkson glanced over stating, "He won't. When Mr. Crawley is stronger we will send him there."

"But that could be weeks," Robert complained before asking, "Won't he be recovered by then?"

"We can hope." Clarkson said placing his hands awkwardly in his coat pockets. "In the morning I can perform some further evaluations." Wanting to explain his decision Clarkson detailed, "At present Mr. Crawley is still recovering from a very severe concussion, and I do not want to do anything to hinder that process."

"Of course," Robert agreed. "So we must watch and wait."

"Indeed," Clarkson agreed a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I believe that is the only thing we can do."

**.~.~.~.~.**

He woke again in the darkness. The room was becoming slowly familiar to him, even as the remainder of his life seemed utterly foreign and unknown. Hearing a steady breathing he turned his head, only an inch, taking in the attractive woman sitting in the chair beside his bed. "You are awake." She said softly smiling happily at this occurrence.

"What time is it?"

"After nine I believe." She said adding concernedly, "You missed dinner."

"No," He said raising his hand to his forehead massaging it gently. "You slept through my late afternoon broth."

"How is your head?" It was a tentative question, probing less than she would have liked, but at the moment asking all that she would dare.

"Bloody sore." He swore before muttering apologetically. "Oh I am sorry."

Even in the darkness he could hear the confusion as she questioned interestedly, "Whatever for?"

"Speaking so inappropriately," He mumbled embarrassed to have said such a thing.

Mary's laugh was light and surprisingly pleasing, "Oh never mind that I've said worse."

"Have you?" He sounded deeply surprised.

Her mirth went cold at the reminder that the man who knew her the best now saw only a stranger. Ten years of shared experience and knowledge, good and bad, had vanished into the ether.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks for the recent replies and story follows. I must give credit to Willa Dedalus for the push to update Remember-never thinking it would take so long. Next chapter will be very M&M-centric but this time I decided to focus on the idea of mothers and their children. Please do tell me what you think.

**.~.~.~.~.**

_Manchester 1885_

_ She had refused a nursing home. Ridiculous really… as a nurse she'd quickly dismiss the cautions and concerns of expectant mothers over such institutions. Nursing homes and hospitals were the safest places to give birth. She made short work of women's protests against entering such facilities. Still, for her child it seemed a very different matter. She and Reginald had tried, hope, prayed even for ten long years. Two tiny girls lay in the family plot miscarried amid tears and deep, deep sorrow. And there had been a boy stillborn…. named for his father with wisps of Isobel's brown hair. Some years before they had tearfully agreed that a child was simply not to be…. It had been heartbreaking, and everything in her fought against the notion of giving up. Still, neither of them could face another tiny shroud, select another name only to see it inscribed on stone alongside a small kneeling angel. If they had not made peace, they had at least accepted matters. Then late last spring Isobel had realized she was with child, and all the old dreams had dawned anew. Each strong kick from this child felt reassuring, even as she felt shivers of memories of the previous kicks from babes anything but strong. Each month felt a further victory, a defeat to whatever monstrous force that seemed determined to deny her a child; the swelling of her abdomen seeming to foreshadow a victory over her unseen biological foe. Still, she resisted the notion of the nursing home. And the emotion was not due to concerns over sanity or even mortality-this child must live she willed it so with every fiber of her being… No her concern was borne of her own need for control. She wanted, no she required total control over her delivery. This child would live, but it would live because she made the necessary decisions and oversaw her own care. Nursing homes balked at such practices. The moment a body entered such a place one gave away every bit of ownership and decision making. Isobel knew of such processes, she was fond enough of that style of decision making as long as she was making the decisions. Yet, the idea of turning her body and more importantly her child to the machinations of a doctor and a few undoubtedly poorly trained nurses appalled her. No their yellow wallpapered guestroom would be an ideal birthing suite she decided, with Reginald and one very well trained nurse to assist. Reginald had argued of course citing the very medical, sanitary and psychological fears she had readily dismissed. Yet, she had remained firm. And when the pains began she had mounted the stairs, and stepped into that large, silent overly bright room. _

_ The next few hours would exist in her memory only as a series of near photographic snapshots; one image, replaced by the next and the next …none tethered by either connection or logic. The panting and exclaiming, the interior tremors, the approaching darkness… Later Reginald would whisper fretfully about how very close she came, how close he came to losing her to losing them. Perhaps, she would muse, she had subconsciously made some Faustian bargain. That if another child was going, well she would travel along with him or her. She had come to far, felt to much for this child to select a name she would never sing in a lullaby. Wakefulness came slowly after the ether. The world seemed hazy at first as if stretched and elongated; faces long and oddly proportioned. Voices sounded odd at first as if speaking Russian in a slurred tongue. Slowly ever so slowly sounds and shapes had shifted into place. Meaning came later in the sound of a tiny desperate yet strong howl. The babe lived. "A boy darling," Reginald whispered his voice nearly breaking with emotion. "A healthy boy!"_

"_Healthy!" She said tiredly before again falling under the ether. _

**.~.~.~.~.**

Yorkshire, 1921

Isobel slowly made her way down the hospital corridor. She had slept fitfully the past two days. The night before she had climbed exhaustedly into her bed only to toss and turn the night away fearfully imagining all the outcomes that might await her boy. She had risen, dressing herself, arriving at the hospital with the first streaks of dawn. The hours were not unusual. She had always preferred being up and about greeting whatever challenge came with the mornings vigor. This day though her energy felt sapped and she moved toward her son's room not with anticipation but resignation. Forcing a smile she pushed the door open. Seeing a figure move toward her Isobel said, "Anna? Whenever did you arrive?"

"A half hour ago," She whispered in reply.

"Were any of them awake?"

Anna shook her head, "Apparently Mr. Crawley had a difficult night. They gave him a pain draught sometime after three."

"I see," Isobel cast a worried glance in his direction. He looked a stranger. His skin typically a ruddy color was as white as the bandages wrapped around his head. His face still bore the scratches from the accident and even in his sleep he rasped as if trying to catch his breath. If she did not know his identify, she would never believe this pale wounded body to be her son. Her focus was diverted by the sound of gurgling. "Well hello you," She whispered turning and walking over to the cot looking down at her grandson.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Tom stood before the open drawer fingering the ticket idly when he heard footsteps. "Oh I didn't know you were up." Sybil said touching her hair with the towel.

"I woke up a few minutes ago," He stated turning to kiss her cheek.

Glancing down at what he was holding Sybil said, "Oh." The quietness of her response conveyed an uncomfortable awareness of the significance of the ticket.

"I suppose I had better see the rail agent about exchanging these."

Sybil placed her hand alongside his, caressing his fingers with her nail. "You don't have to stay." She assured him with a surprising conviction. "You can go home on Saturday just as we planned."

He glanced over at her, "But you are...staying."

"Just for a time," She said softly. "I can't leave not yet."

Tom nodded agreeing, "Then I suppose I cannot either."

Sybil eyed him uneasily adding, "I am not asking you to stay. I know your work and your heart will never be here."

He considered her words for a moment before saying, "No they won't, but yours right now is…isn't it?"

Sensing the question in his tone Sybil answered, "I cannot leave my sister or Matthew not yet," She said adding by way of explanation, "Not until things are more settled."

He nodded replying sadly, "Of course you can't." Sighing he said resignedly, "So I cannot go either."

"Tom," She said meaning to argue his statement.

Raising his hand he rested his finger against her lips. "You said you would only come to Downton as part of a happily married couple. Well I will only leave Downton as part of a happily married couple." He delivered his words forcing a smile that did not reach his lips or last more than a second.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"He does seem a healthy lad," Clarkson pronounced in his soft drawl as he finished his examination of George. "I was surprised Lord Grantham allowed me the honor of delivering him. I rather expected him to bring in Sir Phillip Tapsell or some Harley Street figure."

"I was a bit surprised myself," Isobel granted before allowing, "I rather think Matthew or Mary spoke against it."

"You don't know?" He said sounding surprised.

"I have tried not to interfere….too much." She said smiling distractedly at the babe who seemed to be studying her with great interest.

"That must have been terribly difficult for you."

"I am afraid it was," She agreed seemingly missing entirely the irony in his words. "And now the result is I am at a loss about so much…"

Clarkson nodded stating, "I continue to hope for a recovery of your son's memory. Certainly his current pain is masking any possible signs of such recovery."

"Yes," She said vaguely. "I suppose." Reaching down she lifted George cradling him in her arms. "I suppose we must wait…. I have never been any good at waiting."

"That I do not find at all surprising." He pronounced turning to follow her in the room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Matthew!" Mary bolted upright in the bed crying out his name like a prayer. The image of his beautiful body pinned beneath the car, of blood pouring from his ear, his eyes open and empty… still so vivid in her mind. "Matthew!" She called turning to see an empty bed.

"It's alright my lady," Anna promised her voice soothing as warm tea on a cold afternoon.

"Where is he?" Mary demanded feeling unappeased by her maid's words.

"They have taken Mr. Crawley to be examined, and Master George is having a quick check up." Anna explained stepping to Mary's side.

"George," Mary said glancing over at the empty cot asking fearfully, "Is anything the matter?"

"No, no." Anna said reassuringly. "Both of em are just fine milady. Dr. Clarkson wanted to speak to Mr. Crawley, and Mrs. Crawley wanted him to take a quick look at Master George." She placed a reassuring hand on her lady's shoulder. "I am certain they will be back very soon."

Mary gave several quick nods seeming to process the information in bits. "But nothing is wrong. His headache isn't worse?"

"Not that he said."

"I should have woken up." Mary mused fretfully. "I did not mean to sleep."

"You had a baby two days ago," Anna reminded her gently. "Your body will take some time to recover. You must let yourself rest."

"I don't have the luxury of time." Mary replied barely able to disguise the fatigue in her voice. "How did he appear this morning? Did he say anything?"

Anna mutedly shook her head. "He did not speak much and they wheeled him out not long after he awoke."

"Did he try to sit up?" Without waiting for an answer she added pitifully, " You should have seen him last night. He woke up thrashing and tried to sit up. It was terrible…he was in so much pain."

"He was careful not to sit up, and Mrs. Crawley cautioned the nurses to be particularly gentle in moving his bed."

Again Mary paused seeming lost in thought before answering, "I am so terrified Anna. Last night even when I stroked his hair and whispered to him, when I touched him as only a wife can the way he looked at me….it was with such fear and such foreignness… He never looked at me that way before, even when we were apart, even when he was angry… it was like he was staring at a complete stranger." Her voice dropped and she bit down on her lip to stop the tears that threatened to come. "I never, ever imagined a day he'd look at me that way."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Good day Mr. Crawley," Dr. Clarkson said entering the examining room. "How are you this morning?"

Matthew thought the question entirely too stupid to answer and instead posed his own inquiring, "Why can I not sit up?"

"We're not entirely certain," Clarkson admitted lifting a chair and carrying it across the room, placing it near Matthew's bed. "Most likely a lingering effect of the concussion, we'll try again later today and see what occurs."

"You mean I will try and you will monitor the effects." Matthew's tone was tart and his mood evident in his words.

Clarkson looked up a wry smile barely touching his lips. "That is sadly apt." Crossing one leg over the other he inquired, "Do you know what a concussion?"

"Of course," Matthew answered rattling out the definition.

Clarkson watched him for a moment seemingly deeply in thought before asking, "And how do you know that?" Matthew stared at him uncomprehendingly causing Clarkson to repeat, "How do you know that?"

"I don't know." He said recognizing a kind of impotence in the words.

"Can you translate the phrase Res ipsa loquitur?" Clarkson asked smoothly, wanting to move past any frustration on his patient's part.

"The thing speaks for itself." Matthew replied without pausing for thought.

"Good, good," Clarkson mused appreciatively before requesting, "Can you kindly tell me the location of Trafford Park."

"The borough of Trafford in the city of Manchester…" The answers seem to come instantaneously ; rather like Matthew was being quizzed on a well thumbed book.

"Correct," Clarkson replied opening Matthew's chart and making a brief notation. "Could you perhaps tell me about the professional life of Dr. Reginald Crawley?"

Matthew closed his eyes as if attempting to visualize the name, and draw some association. At length he said, "I am afraid…I don't know."

"Quite understandable," Clarkson excused saying, "Perhaps you could tell me about the life of the Earl of Grantham."

Matthew scowled, his brow lifting as if he was trying to will himself into remembering. "I am afraid… I don't."

Sensing his patients growing frustration Clarkson only smiled suggesting, "Well perhaps that is enough for now. I'll have the nurses return you to your room and perhaps later you can try sitting up again and we can talk again."

"Certainly," Matthew granted sounding distracted.

Rising Clarkson said, "Try not to worry. I am certain things will become clearer."

Matthew merely closed his eyes awaiting the nurses and the agony of the trip back to his room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Descending the stairs, Sybil glanced around hoping Mrs. Hughes was nearby. That morning she'd risen from a deep sleep to discover her nurse's uniform freshly cleaned and pressed. As she had packed only one uniform, expecting to don her uniform only for the delivery, Sybil appreciated having something tidy to wear. In Dublin she would have stayed up cleaning and pressing the outfit herself, however she thought it unbecoming to fail to appreciate the little luxuries Downton provided.

"Yes Milady," Hearing the response caused Sybil to smile, recognizing the soft Scottish lilt of the housekeepers voice speaking to her mother.

"Good morning Darling," Cora called greeting her youngest daughter as she stepped onto the bottom flight of stairs. "Are you going to the hospital?"

Sybil nodded, "Yes I want to check on all three of our patients." Seeing Mrs. Hughes hurrying away Sybil asked, "What were you discussing with Mrs. Hughes?"

"Oh nothing very important," Cora answered lightly. "I was suggesting perhaps your father and I might go up to London for a fortnight. "

"Whatever for?"

"To celebrate having an heir," Cora stated this fact as if it was perfectly obvious.

"But Matthew is injured."

"Yes," Cora agreed dropping her voice an octave, an old trick Sybil remembered her using to convey concern. "But your father said they believe he will live."

"Yes however his injuries are quite serious."

"I am sure Mary is perfectly capable of handling his care. Besides," Cora added conspiratorially. "I'm dying to catch Rosamund up on the family gossip." Sybil listened to her mother continuing to prattle on feeling more and more disconnected from anything she said.

**.~.~.~.~.**

_ "He has your eyes," Isobel said glancing up into her husband's blue eyes. "And your chin."_

"_He looks like a grand chap." Reginald proclaimed beaming down at the tiny boy. "Speaking of which I believe our little chap needs a name."_

"_I thought Reginald…" She interjected carefully. _

_He shook his head, "Not for his first name." He was quiet but firm insisting, "I want him to have a name of his own."_

_Isobel nodded, "I thought of Edward for the King."_

"_Neither of us are Monarchists."_

_Isobel chuckled agreeing, "I suppose not."_

"_What about James?"_

_Isobel glanced back at the small boy cradled against her chest. "Do you think he looks like a James?"_

_This time it was Reginald's turn to chuckle saying, "If we name him Frederick he will look like a Frederick."_

"_I do not believe that," Isobel said adding, "I have a cousin named Ethel. She looks distinctly like a Penelope."_

"_Very well," Reginald said agreeably, like Isobel his gaze rarely left the small bundle cradled so carefully in his wife's arms. "What would you prefer Mrs. Crawley?"_

_Isobel studied the boy with keen interest. She had already cataloged his fingers and toes and other small details. After a time she said, "I had thought about John."_

"_John?" Reginald frowned finding the notion distasteful. "He'll grow up to be a parson. Traveling town to town trying to save the souls of all of England…."_

_Regarding her husband interestedly Isobel reminded him, "Your father was a parson."_

"_And I won't have my son follow the same line. We'll put him in a pew on Sundays but he'll follow another line."_

"_Phillip?" She said then as if thinking better she said, "No." She considered it only a moment longer before proclaiming, "Matthew!"_

"_Matthew?" Reginald repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were considering the matter. "Matthew." He leaned forward brushing his lips against hers, his smile growing even as they kissed. As their lips parted they exchanged a quick glance before both of their gazes turned downward toward their son. "Matthew," He said pronouncing the word as if it was a pure marvel._

**.~.~.~.~.**

The door creaked when it swung open causing Mary to glance over at the patient being carried through. "Well hello you?" She felt herself smiling at the mere sight of a tiny baby wrapped in blankets. "Everything was fine." She spoke as if willing it to be so.

Isobel nodded happily as she passed George into his mother's waiting arms. "He is a very healthy boy."

"And a very handsome one," Mary cooed to the baby who looked back at her.

"He favors both his mother and his father I think." Isobel said approvingly, "With a touch of my Reginald."

Mary looked up meeting Isobel's eyes, "Well he should."

"Oh?" Isobel never had even a tentative hold on Mary's thought process.

Mary looked up announcing, "He's George Reginald."

"Reginald," Isobel said feeling tears pooling in her eyes. "Thank you for that."

"Well it only seemed suitable," Mary said softly, "And it was entirely Matthew's idea."

Isobel smiled saying, "I am not certain I believe that. And I thank you for the gesture. It means a great deal, a very great deal."

Mary nodded accepting the gesture, if unwilling to say much about it.

"Well," Isobel said as if looking for another topic to seize upon. "I see your breakfast tray has arrived." She slid the tray over closer to the bed. "Anna will you care for this young lad while his mama eats," Isobel requested glancing down at the tray.

"Of course," Anna agreed stepping forward.

"Not quite yet," Mary insisted keeping a hold on her son and looking down at him with an expression of such happiness. "Hello my George." She said leaning down and kissing his brow.

**.~.~.~.~.**


End file.
